


Opening Act

by drop



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Circus, Dark, M/M, Strangers to Rivals to Enemies, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drop/pseuds/drop
Summary: "So, Parker, what brought you here to the Marvellous Circus of Stark?"





	1. Flight

**Author's Note:**

> It's mid-October and circus season was a very scary time for me as a kid. Unfortunately, it's been pushed down to second place due to midterms.

When Peter thought of the circumstances that brought him here, he thought of late summer days back home in New York.

He thought of when his life was...not perfect, but pretty damn close.

His parents were alive back then, Uncle Ben was far from being left for dead in an alley, and May...

At that time, Peter's parents were on the top of their game. They could afford to buy half of Queens if they wanted to. And like many of their social circle, they had the ability to give their only son an assistant, claim the Parent of the Year award, and call it a day. But unlike many of his former friends, Peter had doting parents. He was disgustingly spoiled; he was given large allowances a ten year old should never have access to, and he was allowed to go anywhere he wanted.

So he spent all his money with his friends at carnivals and fairs. Booths, psychics, sweets, fortunes, rides, challenges-

The circus.

Without fail, _The Marvellous Circus of Stark_ set up its tents and stages three weeks before school was back in session.

And, God, it didn't take a genius to realise how the circus has drastically ruined his life.

Seeing the animals, the creeps, the colours, the magicians, the trapeze acts, the music, _the gravity-defying acrobats-_

It instantly warped his mind forever. He no longer wanted to study chemistry like his parents. There was enough doctors in this city, in the world even.

He was going to _fly_.

 

 

"Cute story," MJ muttered, untying the strings of her robe. "You're absolutely insane."

Peter grimaced. "Uh, why? Because _I_ act-"

"Don't answer your own fucking question," she interrupted. "God. I mean, I've never heard of anyone who _dreamt_ of being in the circus. Ask around. Everyone's here because this was their last possible option or their only choice. You're missing a few screws, Parker. Oh, wait. Don't tell me. Is that why you're here? Was your aunt May a bullet away from shooting you down for yapping about the circus all the fucking time?"

"Fuck off."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

Peter scoffed, laying his soap and towel on their shared rack before climbing up to the top bunk bed with just one hand. He could feel MJ gawking at his strength. Good.

"So when do I get to meet Stark?" Peter blurted out.

MJ let out a crude laugh. "What?"

Peter rolled his eyes. Why did everyone here have to be so fucking punchable? " _When_  do I _get_ to mee-"

"I heard you the first time, Parker. Why on earth do you think you can even look at him?"

"Excuse me?" Peter was not having it. Was she blind? "I've been hired by the man, I've acted for the man, been paid by the man, I live in his property, and everything I eat and everything I rehearse and perform has to be _approved_ by the man. It's common sense. Don't tell me you've never said 'thank you' in your life."

MJ stared at her nails as she frowned her face in thought. Finally. Peter thought he was- "Only twice."

Peter's patience was running thin. "You've never met Stark?"

"Oh shut up, Parker, of course not. No one has. Have you met God? Didn't think so. That shit doesn't happen around here. And if it does, we're being fired."

"Or promoted."

Peter and MJ turned to the door they left ajar earlier as they came back from the showers, to see one of the beast tamers, Brian? Brandon? Bruce? Probably Bruce--peering inside. "Wanda saw him when she got to be the part of the main act for our show down south," the awkward older man said.

"And she got fired," MJ snapped. "Fuck off. You're not allowed here, shit-scooper."

"She didn't get- She _left_ for a better circus, you witch." Bruce retaliated.

"Better circus?" Peter scoffed. "What's a better circus than Stark's?"

Bruce glared at him before turning to MJ. "Who's this buffoon?"

"That _buffoon_ is Spider. The new opening act we've had for the past three months." MJ smirked. "Not that you'll ever have an act, of course. How many years have you been working for Stark? Five?"

Before he knew it, Peter was joining in MJ's insult fest. God. This place was preparing him for the pits of hell. "I think longer than that. I remember your green beasts when I first saw Stark's show." Peter met Bruce's rapidly darkening eyes. "I was ten years old."

Below him, MJ started cackling like the hag she was, as Bruce vanished, slamming the door in his way out.

Peter heard other coworkers yelling and cussing as the piss poor walls shook, which made MJ cackle even harder.

 

* * *

 

 

The question was a spur of the moment. He wasn't really concerned with the fact that he has never seen Stark. God, who knows? The man may be fictional. A name invented by two crooks when the show was first presented all those years ago. Maybe Stark's a myth. Or dead. Grew too old to see his circus run around for another ten years-

"Parker."

"Yeah." Peter blurted out, snapping out of his reverie. "Yeah. I'm Park. Er."

This tour's ringmaster--whose given name was Gamora, but no one has ever lived long enough to utter it--was standing in front of him grimacing, crossing her arms across her chest. Peter sheepishly grinned at her, hoping she didn't lash out at him like she usually did. He knew that she had a soft spot for him. Gamora was the sole reason he was here. She was the one who gave him a chance to audition when he arrived three hours too late all those nights ago.

Plus, she was the one who nominated him for a spot in the opening act. Without her, he would be sitting by the docks of Coney Island. Or worse.

She opened her mouth to scold him for spacing out during rehearsal, but she pressed her lips together, probably thinking it was not the time. _Today looks like my lucky day_. "Parker," she gritted out. "I need you to find MJ. Let her know Stark wants to see her in the fourth car."

It took him a minute.

 _Stark. Fourth car. Stark is on the train!_ "Stark exists?" Peter gasped out, realising in an instant how stupid he sounded.

"Yes." The ringmaster scoffed. "Go get-"

"Can I meet him?"

She stared at him like she just found mice droppings on her toast. "Where the hell did we pick _you_  up?"

"Well, I auditioned in Coney Island, New York. But I'm from Qu..." Peter's voice died down. Gamora was getting angry. _It was rhetorical, dumbass._ "I want to meet Stark," Peter quickly said before she turned away. "Can I schedule some kind of appointment?"

"Parker, there is no schedule. No one meets Stark unless he desires." Peter opened his mouth to reply, but she shut him up with a glare. "Besides, most likely, he doesn't even know you exist."

Peter stared. _He doesn't even know you exist_. Peter felt like there was a gape opening in his stomach. "I'm an opening act," he said weakly.

"And so are nineteen others." The ringmaster shrugged. Her face softened, noticing his anguish. "Sorry, Parker. You're not special. That's just how it works around here."

Peter nodded mutely, and turned around to leave the tent and head towards the stationed train. As he passed the cars, he noticed for the first time, the hierarchy he was a part of. The primary cars were freshly painted, living quarters customised for the main acts of the circus. They had servers, cooks, and dressers hopping in and off, pampering Stark's stars. As he walked along the tracks, the train cars' quality decreased. They were just labeled by the show's title. _The Marvellous Circus of Stark._

Peter scoffed as he made it to his and MJ's train car. Right. How come Peter never realised this before? Their car was left to MJ's fellow magicians and right to the animal tamers. To the left, the animal cages.

He was practically an animal to the rest of the circus. Of course. Why would Stark want to have an appointment with a fucking pet?

Might as well chain his car at night if that's the way Stark sees him and the others.

Peter swung the door open and dragged himself onto MJ's bed, ignoring her protests. He had no energy to climb up to his bed, or to even feel her kicks against his side.

"Goddamn it. What's wrong with you?"

Peter contemplated telling her about his epiphany, but decided to bury himself in the blankets instead. MJ was clever. More clever than him. She probably figured out their place in the circus on the first day she got here. And Peter was not about to let her make him feel even worse.

"Stark needs you at the fourth car."

"What?" Peter could hear the fear in her voice. He knew that if she was fired tonight, she was going to be abandoned here. In a town miles away from what she considered home, with no money or resources to help her get back.

"Why?"

"I don't know, MJ," Peter mumbled. "You better go quick. Fourth car."

He heard her set her wand and cards down on their table, and scamper down the stairs, her breath quick and short.

 

* * *

 

The night crowd's booming applause was still thrumming in his ears when a young man saddled up to his side, looping an arm around his shoulders. Peter sighed, drinking from his flask, as the man leaned in and cleared his throat against Peter's neck.

"I just saw you in there. You were amazing, Beetle."

"Wrong insect. Try again," Peter muttered, shoving the man lightly.

Peter gave him a side glance, wondering if a quick handjob was worth the coins. The man looked like the fish he ate two nights ago and threw up on MJ's lap. On another night, Peter would have done it. But tonight? After everything? Not a chance.

"Mantis," the man blurted out. "You're Mantis."

Peter chugged down the rest of his flask. Fuck this, fuck Stark, fuck the train cars. Not even a sleazy man who wanted to fuck him remembered his fucking name.  
Peter felt a hand go up his bare thigh. He grabbed onto it, hearing the man hiss in pain. "Who do you even remember from the show? Huh? Or were we all eye candy to you?"

"Baby, I remember you-"

"I asked you a question."

The man looked amused, taking his hand away, his eyes bright as he started to think about the circus acts. "Well, if you ask me, Nebula was phenomenal. Oh, the magician, Vision. Fuck what a show he gave. Oh! Falcon was brutal. How does he even survive being so high in the air. What's the secret?"

"So the main acts," Peter said, ignoring his question.

"Duh." The man's gaze turned predatorily. "The rest of you are there to look pretty."

"Pretty?" Peter snapped. What the fuck? He had talent, for God's sake! "I can swing around the room! With one fucking hand!"

The man just laughed. "And your ass looks great doing it."

Peter let out a yell of frustration as he stormed away to his car, leaving the man laughing at his own joke, not noticing that the catch of his night was long gone.

This day was just full of revelations, wasn't it? He was an animal. He was eye candy. He was nothing but property, a plaything. Not even the fucking audience-

"Parker!"

He froze in the middle of hopping up the stairs to his train car, to be slammed on the side by the one and only MJ. What the fuck?

"Park, Park, I'm- I got promoted! I actually- I'm a main act! I'm- I met Vision! I'm going to be his assistant for the last three shows on our tour! Can you believe-"

"What?"

MJ turned him around, a large smile grazing half her face. "I'm a main act!"

Peter felt lost for words. Instead of feeling thrilled that MJ wasn't left for dead, he felt nothing.

His stomach swirled. No, not nothing. Envy. He definitely felt envy.

He plastered on a fake smile. "That's great, MJ. That's why you met Stark earlier?"

"Yes!" MJ blurted out, and looked around at their staring coworkers. She assessed the environment and hauled him up the stairs. "Let's go inside."

Peter let her drag her inside the car, and watched her slam the door shut with the lock they had made months ago to keep the sleazy beast tamers from peeking in at night.

He sat down on her bed, and immediately noticed the lack of MJ's belongings and the abundant amount of packed boxes laid neatly near the door. _Oh_.

"You're moving too." Peter stated.

_Of course. Main act. She talked to Stark. She means something now._

"Yeah! With Vision. Oh God, Parker, I wish you were there. We practiced his disappearing act. It was wicked, and-"

"You met Stark."

MJ hummed. "Yes."

"How-How's he like?" Peter said carefully.

"He's...marvellous, Parker. Charming, funny. But mysterious. I'm not supposed to say anything though. For some reason, all the main acts are asked to not discuss him or look into him. Vision told me we will barely see him anyway." MJ shrugged. "But you're okay. You're my friend and all."

"Thanks," he managed to answer.

"What's wrong with you today? You seem off, Park."

He ignored her question. "How did he even notice you? There's five opening magicians. Did you have to do some sort of audition?"

MJ seemed surprised at the question, as if she never considered or even mulled over how she got in. "Beats me. I didn't audition. Stark just presented me to Vision, and we left the lab to-"

"Lab?"

MJ was starting to get annoyed at his interruptions, but Peter didn't care. "Yes. The fourth train car is the circus' lab. That's where they make a bunch of the machinery for the main acts. Falcon's wings were stored there, replacements for Nebula's extremities, some old automatons from past shows. If you ever become a main act, I'm sure you can make better web strands in there. You should ask the Ringmaster about it."

 _Of course_.

Better web strands is equivalent to a better grip, longer flight equals a longer attention span from the audience.

The audience's praise travels around, reaches Stark...

MJ might be an asshole, but she was a certified genius.

"Is it heavily guarded?" Peter blurted out.

"Heavily-" MJ stopped mid-sentence, and stared at Peter. They might have met a couple of months ago, but living three feet apart from each other did wonders. A smirk grew on her face as she realised his plan. "It is. _But_ the car has a lovely skylight installed..."

 

* * *

 

Peter ended up going to the fourth train car at two in morning. He planned for an earlier journey, but MJ had dragged him into their current town to celebrate. He wasn't exactly complaining. He drank excellent wine, danced to good music, and got to arrive at a bodyguard-less train car due to the late hour.

To avoid any trouble, he still climbed on top of the car, and pulled the skylight open. The last thing he needed was someone walking around, recognising him and blackmailing him in the morning.

The inside of the car was only visible due to the full moon's light, but he had no doubt he was in the right one. On the wall opposite to the door laid all sort of strange objects, including Falcon's large wings and limbs that were proportioned to Nebula's.

Peter touched them, and shivered at the cool, sleek finish of them. He felt like he was in a butcher for circus freaks.

He moved around the car, careful not to step on loose bolts and nails scattered across the floor. Some of the objects were strangely familiar. As if they were hoarded items from the Stark circus tours he saw when he was barely a teenager. His eyes naturally travelled across the room to stare at an ominous, tall, black box. He walked towards it, as if he was trapped in a trance. Could it be?

He turned on the box's knob, and heard a soft click. He slowly opened it, and froze in fright as he saw a lifeless face.

He slammed a hand over his mouth before he could ruin everything and scream, letting everyone know he had trespassed into Stark's lab.

His heart was slamming against his chest. _Breathe, breathe. It's just a helmet._

He opened the door wider than before, letting the moon's light trace what he thought was a decapitated head. He felt light, his mind was blank.

_No way._

The Iron Man helmet.

He hasn't seen the Iron Man since... Well, since he was a kid.  
The Iron Man was one of Stark's greatest acts a couple of years ago, but for some reason, it was pulled out of the shows, despite the audience's high demand for it.

He was fourteen when it happened. It was early August, and the posters were distributed and plastered around the city. Nebula was there, and so was Vision. But the Iron Man, the Iron Patriot, and Black Widow were nowhere to be seen. Peter had brought it up to his friends. No one was interested in going to the circus with him.

_"What's the Stark circus without the Iron Man?"_

"What happened?" Peter whispered against the cold, rusty helmet.

He stepped back, and closed the box quietly.

Thats when he heard it. A soft creak to his left. He turned to run, but it was too late. His upper body was slammed against the cool, metal surface of the train car's desk, a warm, larger body pressing against his back, offering no escape.

He gasped harshly, because of the pain and his nose being overwhelmed by the heavy musk that unmistakably belonged to an adult male. Peter felt his face go red as the person pressed forwards to stop him from squirming. They were heavily endowed. Yep. Great. Yep. A male for sure.

"What do we have here? A thief?"  
Peter felt hot as the deep voice spoke against his nape, the vibration sending blood rushing down his body. _Fuck, no, no_. He wanted to cry. This was definitely _not_ the time to get a fucking hard-on.

"I'm an acrobat, not a thief," he hissed. "Let me go, you dickhead. Stark will have you chopped up for this."

The man chuckled deeply. "Oh, will he now?"

"Yes," Peter gasped, focusing on _not pushing back_. "Yes. So fuck off, you shit for brains. Everything here is his property, including me, so if you leave one single scratch, he'll fire you on the spot."

The man pressed tighter against his back, his lips grazing Peter's earlobe. "Well," the man nipped at his ear, and Peter saw _stars_. "Good thing I'm Stark, then."

The weight lifted itself off, and Peter laid limp on the desk, his mind reeling.

Stark, his boss, owner of the whole damned fiasco...had just _pressed_  himself against Peter's ass.

He wanted to _die_.

Peter slowly raised himself up, his arms steady, at least, as he turned himself around to face the other man. _Stark_.

_Fuck, MJ, could it hurt to mention that he was... Goddamn._

Taller and broader than him, a dark haired, bearded middle-aged man laid against the Iron Man box, crossing his well-defined arms loosely against his chest, dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

The mortification that was manifesting in his body washed away in an instant. A boiling, darker feeling quickly rushed up in its place, specifically in his nether regions.

His mind was screaming one thing and one thing only: I _need_ to get fucked by Stark. Plain and simple.

 _No_ , he chided himself. _First get into his wallet, and_ then _get into his pants._

Before he knew it, Peter's mouth opened to diss in retaliation. Throughout his few months here, he has noticed that it was the only way to actually get someone to _listen_. "Is this what you've been reduced to, Stark? Preying on innocent people?"

"Innocent?" Stark quickly said. "This is my lab."

"Then you should keep a better watch. Insects are always slipping in through unsupervised crevices." Peter cocked his head to the ceiling, motioning at the skylight, but Stark's gaze stayed on his elongated neck. Stark's eyes glazed over as they continued to rove down his body.

Peter felt breathlessly warm as the man took an unconscious step forward. _This is good. Not part of the plan, but I might be able to kill two birds with one single stone after all._

"Quite the arms you have there, kid. Good legs... Acrobat, you say?"

Peter leaned back, and stared back. "Yes. One of your best. My stage name is Spider, but I give you permission to call me Parker."

Stark looked amused. "Cheeky."

Peter ignored him. "I want to be a main act."

"Oh?"

"I have plenty to offer, good looks, talent, creativity, intelligence, and frankly, I'm tired of being treated like shit and living right next to shit. I have everything your circus desires."

Stark stepped even closer, his thick aroma once again making Peter dizzy. Peter kept his cool. He knew what the man was trying to do, and he was not about to start swooning. If there's anyone pleading tonight, it's going to be Stark. "Ah," the older man said, raising an eyebrow. From the corner of his eye, Peter saw his hand shift up. Next thing he knew, Stark was caressing his chin with the softest touch, tilting it upwards. Peter stopped himself just in time from shivering in pleasure. "Then, Spider, if you're so marvellous, why haven't I heard of you before?"

"Easy," Peter snipped, wetting his upper lip with his tongue. Stark followed the movement with darkening eyes. _Yes_. "I'm unrecognised talent. The audience focuses on certain features of mine rather than my gravity-defying feats. There's a clear solution to that though. I'm going to require a less revealing outfit. It's terrible that I've been handed down Black Widow's old stuff. And secondly, I need access to this lab. That way I can make stronger restraints for my act to thrive."

As Peter spoke, Stark had taken a step backwards, crossing his arms again, the playful smirk disappearing. Had he said a good argument? Was he finally-

"Hard to break it to you, kid, but spots for the main act are full."

Peter gaped.

 _What_?

"Oh, wow, so you fucking choose _MJ_ over me?" _Sorry M, no offence,_ Peter thought a moment later.

"MJ?"

"The girl you approved today. Brought her right here-"

Stark let out a laugh. "That was just a favour. Vision lost his assistant, and he had his eye on her for a while. Besides he's the main act, she's just something cute to look at."

Peter grimaced. "You're gross."

"And you're way over your head," Stark said, coming closer in an instant, placing his hands on both sides of Peter's waist, trapping him against the table. Peter kept his head high. _No way_. He was not about to submit in whatever...they were doing. Peter had no idea where this was going by now. "Kid, I should have you thrown in the nearest dumpster for trespassing. Including your friend for breaching the contract."

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Peter's breath hitched, his mouth hanging open.  _Fuck! How could I been so stupid? Fuck!_  "S-She has _nothing_ to do with this!"

Stark tutted. "Really? I say she's the root of this misbehaviour. Made you jealous, didn't she? Everyone gets to know her name now, but you... Well, you have phenomenal legs...Are you sure my circus is your best bet?"

Peter fumed and jabbed at the man's chest. "Listen here, Stark. Fuck me over if you want, insult me, call me names, but don't you _ever_ bring MJ into this."

The older man cooed, making Peter bristle. "You're too pure, Spider. You definitely don't belong to a circus."

"No, you're wrong," Peter hissed. "I belong here. I have the potential to become the next Black Widow. The next fucking Iron Man. I can bring this show back to its golden era with a flick of my wrist. I just need your approval."

Stark leaned in all the way, his lips caressing the earlobe he had nipped earlier. Peter felt the man's beard scratch against his cheek. He shuddered violently, his right hand unconsciously latching onto Stark's broad shoulder. "Equipment, wardrobe, private rehearsals, time, and not to mention, my trust. Quite the resources I'm wasting here. What's in it for me? What if this all fails? What do I get for my troubles?"

Peter leaned further back, knowing he looked indecent. He met Stark's steely gaze. " _Investing_  not wasting. I assure you, you won't regret this."

"I still need an incentive, Spiderling," he whispered. Stark tucked a loose lock behind his ear, raking his hand through his hair, to finally lay it against his nape. Peter couldn't stop the involuntary shiver, and Stark saw it. His sly grin grew. "Have any inheritances laying around in the town we picked you up from? Any family ring we can pawn in the meanwhile?"

Peter was about to burst, and not in a good way. At least, not at this moment. _I have nothing. Not anymore_. "I-I-"

"You? You?" Stark teased, twirling the locks of Peter's hair.

_What can I-_

Peter's mind cleared.

 _It's worth a shot_.

He stared into Stark's eyes to scrutinise what the man's thought process was as he leaned back, his other hand grabbing onto his shoulder. Stark looked slightly puzzled, but it was quickly replaced by shock, as Peter rose one leg to wrap it around Stark's waist.

Peter bit his lip. "Is my virginity worth the resources?"

Stark stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"You're a _virgin_?"

"I am."

"Impossible. Looking like this?"

"I usually sate men with a quick blowjob, thanks for asking. No one has ever f- _ah_!"

Stark's hand had immediately shifted down, squeezing his ass, fingers stroking his clothed crease, his face burying itself on Peter's neck, his aroma and rough touch too much for Peter to handle.

He couldn't help it. Peter's face went blood red as he shuddered and twitched out his release against Stark warm crotch, an animalistic moan escaping him, too suppressed to even control its volume.

Peter's mind went blank despite his overwhelming embarrassment. As the tension rushed out of him, he went completely limp. His head tilted back, baring his neck, as he began to regain back his breath from the mind-numbing orgasm.

 _Wow_.

It took him a while to sense Stark's chuckles against his bare neck.

"Nevermind." The older man raked his teeth against Peter's clavicle, making him whimper, too sated to even think of stopping it. "You're most definitely a virgin."

 

* * *

 

 _And thus, the pact between the horny circus king and the glorified sex worker was sealed_ , Peter scoffed to himself as he saw the one and only Stark, enter his training tent, with a sleek narrow box, containing what was clearly his new suit.

The expensive box was a welcoming site; he hasn't seen one in years. He sometimes forgets how pampered he was before. Back when his life was perfect, it was a Saturday tradition for him and his mother to travel to Manhattan and buy at least three new outfits for each of them. They would all be packed up in decorated, slim packages, oftentimes with coloured paper and curled up silvery ribbons.

Stark's box was void of frilly decorations, but, honestly, Peter wasn't expecting much in the first place. It's not like he's married to the man.

"I'm sorry, this is a private training, sir," Peter cooed loudly. He currently had a bird's view of the tent's ground floor, but he certainly did not have the volume of a giant to be heard from above. "I'm going to ask you to leave."

Peter could see Stark's head roving around before it tilted up and finally noticed where Peter was located. He must have made quite the sight. Peter was currently hanging by a sole ribbon, which was wrapped around his ankle. His body was flexed forwards, his arms latching onto one of the tent's bolted poles.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stark asked. Peter could tell that he tried to frame it in a monotonous tone, but failed tremendously. He could sense the curiosity in his voice.

"Trying not to lose my virginity to you," Peter said, letting go of the pole and bending in half to untie his ankle's ribbon. As Stark barked out in frantic surprise, Peter's body weight took control.

He was in free fall.

He let out a childlike laugh as he felt the rush of adrenaline take over him, the wind against his face letting him know that he was an acrobat of the circus; that he had the power to fly.

Peter aimed his wrist towards the tent's entrance, a strand of his homemade web fluid dispensing and catching onto the sturdy fabric. He leaned forwards, bringing his knees up to his chest and flew over Stark. He laughed at the man's open expression, and released the strand, giving one last somersault before landing on his tiptoes gracefully, a feat he has mastered due to ten years of nonstop practice.

He turned around and saw Stark staring back, the expression he saw earlier had already vanished.

"What do you think?" Peter breathed out. "Is it worth a main act?"

There was a prolonged pause. "I think it's more of a private act."

Peter shuddered, his fingers tightening behind his back. For once, he had run out of quick, clever retorts. Stark seemed to notice this, his quiet chuckles reaching Peter's ears.

"Ran out of web there, Spider?" The man teased, and Peter quickly snapped of it. He sauntered forwards, absolutely _loving_ how he had every single drop of Stark's attention.

"Is that for me?" he motioned at the box under the man's arm. As soon as he said it, his mind supplied a clever retort for Stark's 'private' comment. "Because my new suit will definitely transform my act from an addition to your wank fodder to the best performance this circus has ever seen."

Stark didn't answer. Instead he walked behind Peter, and slid his arms around Peter's waist, presenting the box in front of him. Peter reacted immediately, shuddering at the man's body heat and the scent motor oil wafting off him. Peter was about to ask him where he spends his time at to gather that odour, when Stark slid the lock open to reveal the newly fabricated outfit.

Peter couldn't help but gasp. The first thing he noticed was the bright colours. Compared to the secondhand black leotard he currently wore, the clash between blood red and royal blue was breathtaking.

 _Now_ that's _a main act outfit._

He carefully lifted the material off the box, and preened at the fact that it was a full bodysuit, just as he requested. It felt slick and soft to the touch, nothing like the rough cloth currently wrapped around his torso.

"You like it?" Stark murmured against his ear, and Peter nearly died at the tingles his voice sent.

"I love it," Peter whispered. _I need to-_

"Try it on."

"Duh," he said, turning in Stark's arms. "Want to do the honours?"

Stark smirked coldly. "Don't push your luck, kid. You might be my new favourite toy, but I'm not your personal assistant."

Peter pressed his lips together. "Right. I need one. Can you get one for me?"

"Did you hear what I said or are you deaf?"

"Of course, Mr. Stark, I just need to give you a task to keep you busy in the meanwhile. I am not about to strip in front of a prude, old man."

Stark stared at him in response, his gaze steely and dark. Peter stared back, a smirk slowly growing on his face. God, was this fun.

After what could have been a few seconds or a whole goddamn day, Peter felt Stark's hands at his waist move upwards, his large palms and fingers slowly tracing the shape of his ass, spine, and shoulder blades. Peter felt hot not only at his crotch, but up to his face, neck, and hands. _Fuck_ , he was throbbing again.

But before he could berate himself for giving in so easily _again_ , Stark's fingers lifted the cotton hem off his shoulders and pushed them down to reveal his bare skin.

Peter hummed happily. He won this round. Not...that he's keeping score or anything.

Stark continued to peel off what Peter nowadays considered his second skin, unashamedly staring as he revealed more of Peter's toned body. As soon as the leotard scrunched off his waist, the cheap material slithered down his legs, leaving him-

"You don't wear anything underneath," Stark pointed out.

"It's too tight for lingerie." Peter said, and Stark immediately fell for his trap.

"Lingerie?"

"Boxers are uncomfortably loose, sir. Especially when doing stunts."

"You like to be wrapped, Spider?" Stark said in a low voice, unzipping the back of the new suit. "Tight? Bonded? Controlled?"

Peter shivered at the words, grabbing onto Stark's shoulder as the man dropped to his knees to slip Peter's legs through the suit. He rose one leg, and Stark grabbed it with a strength that he hadn't expected. He was starting to feel dizzy. "I...I haven't really...explored anything, Mr. Stark. I'm a virgin, remember?"

Peter let out a noise, and quickly covered his mouth as the older man grabbed onto his stiff erection and pushed it under the bodysuit that was currently up to his waist.

Stark snorted.

"Yes, you keep reminding me," he replied, raising a hand to Peter's mouth. "Yet, you've pleasured dozens of men with this word vomiting contraption."

The older man was slowly gaining controlling of the...whatever this was, Peter (still) hasn't figure it out. But he wasn't about to give the man the upper hand. As Stark traced his lips, leaning in to say another remark, Peter opened his mouth and sucked in Stark's thumb.

The man's gaze darkened, his face failing to hide that he was caught off guard. Peter preened, and rolled the man's finger with his tongue before sucking slowly once more. He quickly noticed the telltale signs of the man wanting to push the finger further in, and popped the thumb out, smirking and murmuring, "And I'll pleasure a thousand more once the crowd demands for me to be the main act."

Stark looked absolutely _livid_  behind his stoic face. Despite the amount of disrespect Peter was throwing, the man resumed to finish his task, going behind Peter and zipping up his bodysuit.

Peter was about to ask him where the nearest mirror was located, when Stark's hands roved down his back, to grab onto his waist, slowly massaging the curve of his back with his thumbs. _Fuck, this man..._  Peter gasped, tilting his head back against Stark's shoulder. He felt a hot kiss against his temple, and he let out a small, almost inaudible moan. _Shit._

"Considering how mundane your act is and will be," Stark began, his voice soft. Peter blanched, breaking out of his high. "The only one you'll ever truly pleasure afterwards will be me."


	2. Fight

"Wait, what was the word again?" MJ muttered. Peter groaned in annoyance. "Hey, I can't hear you when your face is smothered into a fucking pillow."

Peter rose his face. " _Mundane,_ MJ! He called my act _mundane_."

"Come on, Parker, the man's the son of a crook. Born out of dirty money, never seen a classroom before. He probably doesn't know what mundane means."

Peter squashed his head against the pillow again. "If he knows what marvellous means, he knows what mundane is."

MJ slammed her hand against the desk, causing the brand new personal assistant Stark recruited for Peter to startle and drop the tweezers he was using to repair Peter's web dispenser. "So what?" MJ snapped. "You know the truth! _I_ know the truth! Ted here knows the truth!"

"Uh, it's Ned," Peter's assistant corrected.

"Not the point." MJ barked. "The point is Stark knows shit. You deserve this, and you _will_ achieve it. He just wants to toy with you, scare you off."

"And it's working," Peter moaned, burying his head in the pillow once again. Ned excused himself to collect newer screws from the lab, and left, closing the door behind him.

Peter's brand new room, which was connected right next to the lab, fell silent as MJ walked across the room to sit by Peter, who was one Stark mention away from crying in defeat.

"Park," MJ spoke up, her words slow as if she was forming the question as cautiously as she could. "Are you sure you can trust Ted?"

"Ned," Peter said, feigning cluelessness. He already knew what she was about to propose. Of course, it was the first thing that popped to mind when Stark introduce him to Ned. "Why?"

He could feel her shrug move the bed. "Well, Stark really doesn't care about the outcome of this deal, right? If the crowd doesn't exactly warm up to you and love you, he's still getting something out of it."

"Yeah?" She had a good point. Peter brings in new customers, Stark profits. Peter makes a joke of himself, Stark still profits. A clown-esque night plus popping the cherry of the circus's most infamous cocksucker. Stark was having the time of his life, and depending whether he's feeling greedy or horny on the day of the event, he would always have the power to turn the sail whenever he desires.

"Well, I don't think you should depend on Ned as much as you are now. What if Stark wants to have a good laugh on the night you perform? And sends him to create faulty wiring on your dispenser?"

Peter pretended he hadn't considered that, and stared at the empty chair Ned left behind.

Anything and everything was possible at this point.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter's mouth watered as soon as the waiter lifted the cover to reveal the main course. Blood red tomato sauce draped over a dish of golden linguini and well-seasoned, medium rare meatballs.

"Oh my God, I think I'm dead."

Across the small, round table, Stark chuckled, raising his hand to indicate the waiter to stop pouring him wine. "Fan of Italian food?"

"Hell yes," Peter breathed out, picking up his fork and twirling the pasta, the thought of waiting for Stark totally slipping his mind. "I'm from Queens. New York. God, I _missed_ this."

"You miss New York?"

Peter stopped chewing, thinking Stark was getting a bit too personal. That was the point of the circus, right? Leave everything behind, regain a new identity and actually become _someone_. What game was the man playing now?

Peter swallowed, feeling unbalanced. "Where are _you_ from?"

Stark didn't seem to mind the questioning's change of direction. "Manhattan actually," he answered cooly. "But I moved to California once I was smart enough to leave my father's house. That's where I founded this circus."

Peter was surprised to hear a similar runaway story to his. "Does your father know about the circus?"

"He's dead." Stark hummed, taking a sip of wine. "Mom, too. New York, you know? All it takes is to be in the wrong place." Peter opened his mouth to ask a following question, but Stark beat him to it. "Who knows you're here?"

Peter pouted, knowing it was only fair to answer back. "My aunt May, kind of. I didn't tell her I was going here, but she knows...me."

"You ran away?" Stark asked.

"I was useless in Queens. I was nobody," Peter blurted out. Stark made a face, and Peter bristled. "Hey! At least, here, I can actually be talented. Everything's crumbling back there, and I can't do anything about it. I can fly here, bring smiles to children, make their miserable lives brighter, helping them forget the fact that their parents are about to divorce because their mother is bedridden and their father is gambling all the money away, and that, hey, they have to live with their uncle Ben-"

"Parker." Stark said, and Peter clammed up.

Well, so much for leaving the past behind.

"I'm sorry. I ruined this. I just- I'm nervous for tonight," Peter muttered. "Thanks for the last meal and all that."

Stark barked out a laugh. "No problem, kid. We all get anxious before a flight."

Peter snorted. "You were an acrobat before?"

Stark shrugged. "Not exactly."

Peter raised an eyebrow, but the man didn't seem interested in explaining himself further.

 _Asshole_. He rolled his eyes and kept eating.

 

They were dividing the dessert into two, a petite chocolate cake drizzled with strawberry syrup, when Stark popped his circus' most taboo question.

"So, Parker, what's your first name? If Parker is your surname in the first place, of course."

Peter stared at the man, shocked that Stark would ask that so casually. Stark noticed his expression.

"What? Did I offend you?"

"I thought that when we're in here, past lives were locked away with a key and buried in one's hometown."

Stark hummed in thought at his answer, pushing Peter's piece of cake towards him. "But what we have is different, isn't it?"

"I don't think so." Peter said, taking a bite of the fluffy baked good. It should be worse. Right now, it felt like a rivalry between exes rather than a business-

"I do," Stark said. "Do you want me to growl out some insect's name against your neck when I'm coming inside you?"

Peter's breath hitched, a shiver going down his spine and reaching his nether regions in under a millisecond. _God_ , can the man provide a warning next time? "It's...an arachnid," he said weakly, knowing already that the man had once again won him over.

Stark chuckled. "In my case, I would like for you to gasp out Tony. Although screaming it would be preferable."

Peter couldn't help but gawk. _Tony_. Tony Stark. It...fits. More than even. "Tony," he said, just to taste it, just to see how it will roll out once-

Wait a minute.

Peter rose from his seat abruptly, making the table shake and Tony Stark stare up at him in surprise.

"Why are you so fucking sure I'm going to sleep with you?" _FUCK!_  MJ was right. His fears were becoming a reality. Stark was going to make a fool out of Peter. "My God, you're going to rig something tonight, right? I'm going to fall, trip, have insufficient restraints-"

"Parker, you're being paranoid."

"Oh really? Then promise me nothing bad is going to happen to me tonight."

Tony let out a cold laugh. "Believe it or not, I'm not God, kid."

"You know what I mean!" Peter snapped. "Don't send Ned, MJ, the Ringmaster, God, even the perverse beast tamers, to tamper with-"

"Parker." Tony interrupted. "I know you've worked too hard for this to fail. I'm an ass, Parker, but I'm not evil."

Peter let out a noise; he had not expected the response. He stared at the man as he stood up as well, and walked around the table to stand in front of Peter.

"But I-"

"And I-" Peter pressed his lips together, his blood going cold. "What? But you what?"

Peter felt the touch before he could see it; Tony tilted his chin up with the pads of his forefinger and thumb and leaned forwards. Peter willed himself to say something, to shout, to demand, to jilt his head away, but...

Once Tony's lips touched his, he closed his eyes and gave in, forgetting that they were playing a game of control, that there was a competition, of who's cat and who's mouse.

Tony hummed against his mouth. "Oh, sweetheart." Peter shivered. The man's lips trailed against his cheek and proceeded to mouth Peter's earlobe. The hot, wet sensation of the man's touch was leaving Peter- _Fuck_. "Here's your little situation. I recognise your efforts, Parker, I really do, but... I don't like to lose."

Peter stiffened, his heart beginning to thrum at an unhealthy pace. For some ungodly reason, he could feel his throat closing up like it normally did when he was about to burst into tears. Why though? He knew Tony was no good, definitely not a knight in shining armour. Just a businessman. A man who only listened to the cries of his own desires.

Then why was Peter so _disappointed_?

His eyes slowly roved down from the ceiling to the man's face, and noticed for the first time, that Tony had laid him down on the round table. One of the man's hands was caressing the dip of his back and the other, his upper left thigh, his fingers dipping slightly between his thighs.

Tony was centimetres away from making Peter a whimpering mess.

 _That fucking_ -

Peter rose his leg slowly, pressing it completely against his own chest. Tony was immediately enraptured by the sight, his roaming hand, limp against his side.

 _God_ , after all of that, Tony still had the audacity to think that he was getting a show.

_Good, then. Enjoy it._

As slowly as the first one, Peter rose his right leg, synchronising it with his arms, which he rose in a perpendicular angle, his fingers latching onto the corners of the table. Instantly, Tony's eyes roved down to the clothed area Peter had exposed.

_That's right. Stay there, and..._

As soon as he felt legs hit chest, and he heard a resounding crash, Peter flexed his hands and jumped up, sauntering forwards to the doubled down man, who was visibly gritting his teeth, trying not to yell out in pain. He will be okay, Peter assured himself. It's not like he heard a crack or anything.

Peter reached forwards to caress the man's jaw with his forefinger, and flicked his hand away as soon as Tony's face jolted away from him with silent fury. "Oh _Tony_ , I hate losing, too."

 

* * *

 

 

MJ yanked him back behind the curtain, and turned him to face her. "You did _what_?"

"M, not now." Peter hushed. "I start in five."

"Parker!" she cried. "You fucking kicked Stark. You see that curtain behind you? Do you see that it says _The Marvellous Circus of Stark_? You know what that means in English? It means _you don't fucking have a successful performance right after you fucking kicked Stark!"_

"But I will," Peter snarled. "He's not-"

"Park, think straight for once!"

"I have to perform, M," he stated. He wasn't going to let Stark win. Not this time, and not ever. He was exhausted of being literal shit. He was given a private tent, new suit and room, and an assistant for God's sake! He wasn't going to lose any of that. Stark would have to walk over his dead body. "And I _will_  perform. I have it all under control, okay?"

MJ opened her mouth to counter his claim, but Ned popped his head into the dressing room, his gaze not leaving the floor as he said, "Spider, you're up. Now."

MJ reddened with fury at the sight of who she believed was Stark's mole, and started to stalk towards Peter's assistant, but Peter held her back.

"I got this," he promised, and MJ shook her head, clearly frustrated.

"God, I'll miss you, you idiot."

Peter opened the curtains, and looked back to smile at her. "Come on, it's not like he'll kill me."

Peter began to walk down the hall of the connected tents, rolling his eyes at MJ's frantic reminders of the fact that _you kicked Stark, Parker!_  and nodding a thanks towards Ned as the young man handed him his web shooters.

He could hear Ringmaster Gamora and her incomprehensible shouts as the crowd screamed and cheered. He breathed out, his fingers miraculously still as he tied his dispensers to his wrists.

In the dim lighting of the hall, he saw a peek of the main tent's bright colours as someone with wide costume extensions slid out of it. The tall, slim figure came closer, peeling off red-tinted goggles to peer at him.

"Spider, right?" The one and only Falcon spoke up. Peter frantically nodded. "Cool. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. You, too. I meant. Hope you had a good time. Right now. When-"

"Got it," Falcon grinned, his smile, easy and contagious. God. Peter was almost there. Scratch that. _Falcon_  knew _his_  name. He made it. All he needs is to-

"Parker," Gamora said as she slid inside herself. She gave him a smile and ruffled his hair as she passed him. "You're up. Have a nice flight."

Peter nodded, her wording making him feel unease. "Thanks..." he said quietly as he walked towards the awaiting crowd, his steps far too loud, his dispensers feeling far too light on his wrists.

_"No problem, kid. We all get anxious before a flight."_

_No. Stop. Stark's not winning tonight. You got this. Nothing's going to happen. You absolutely got this._

Peter closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and pushed the curtains open.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my 2am...thing, I appreciate it!


End file.
